


Lather, Rinse, Repeat

by florahart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Ron Weasley, M/M, a Muggle safehouse, crankypants Draco, imagine Draco's enthusiasm at the situation, stuck together in a safehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-24
Updated: 2005-12-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auror!Ron becomes Draco's bodyguard.  Neither of them is excited about the prospect, but maybe they can learn to get along all right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lather, Rinse, Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on an LJ comm for an exchange in 2005, which was well before canon closed (but the setting is post-canon, anyway; the characters are adult). The original posting (and comm) no longer exists.

Ron stepped inside the cell with trepidation, and instantly Draco leapt to his feet. "I don't fucking think so," he said through the barred cell wall to the warden. 

"Yeah, I'm tickled fucking rose pink myself, Ferret. Moody didn't give me a choice. You are my new assignment. None of the shit I trained for, unless someone attacks you. No adventures with Harry, which, while not entirely the point of my job, still are a definite perk. No going to pubs and telling folks I'm a bloody Auror. No. I get to baby-sit you until such time as you're no longer in danger, because you bloody well decided to turn your coat and demand to be let out of here. You're fucking safe in here, you idiot. Now get your things, whatever you have in here, and let's go." 

Draco stared, then sat down on the edge of his bunk. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Weasel." 

"Yes, you are. Know what this is?" Ron held up a thin silver elastic band. "It's a control band. With it around your arm, where I will put it—and you may wish to note I'm bigger than you and a whole lot more pissed off—I can Apparate you, take you where I will, and tell you what to fucking eat, if it comes to that." 

"No! I. Shit. I'll come quietly." 

"You don't do _anything_ quietly." 

"I will. I really will." Draco certainly looked frightened enough, and Ron's eye was drawn away by the wave of his boss's hand behind Draco. Abruptly, Ron realized why Draco would object to being controlled, and put the band back in his pocket. 

"Well. Come on, then," he said gruffly. "We're leaving in two minutes." He turned on his heel and walked back into the common area and waited precisely two minutes, then turned back to impose force, after all. Just as he returned to the cell, Draco struggled out with a box of clothing and a suitcase evidently full of books. "What the. Why didn't you just…" he broke off as Draco glared. 

"Prisoner, in case you've forgot. Can't perform magic while incarcerated, and evidently until the moment you get me the fuck out of here, that rule stands." 

"Sorry. I assumed as you were being released into my custody… Here. Give—Christ, Draco. I'm not going to damage your things. Look, for all you've spent hours in your life disparaging my family, one of the things that's true about being less than well-to-do is that we know how to take care of things. Let me?" Draco still held his case of books suspiciously. "Please?" 

Draco relented and sulkily passed over the case, and then, after Ron had shrunk it, the load of clothing. Ron handed back both miniaturized cases and Draco pocketed them quickly then held out his hand. "He says," his head jerked back, indicating the warden once more, "you _have_ to bind me for the trip out. I can't Apparate, for the same reason I couldn't shrink my own bloody things." 

"Right. Sorry." Ron hauled out the band again, and his wand, and slipped the elastic around Draco's left wrist, muttering a charm. The band tightened and Draco tensed. "Don't fight it. It won't help, it will hurt, and I'll let you loose as soon as I can." Now that Draco had gone from sarcastic prat to kicked puppy, Ron couldn't help but try to make him feel better. "Ready?" Draco nodded once, sharply, and Ron slipped his arm around the other boy's shoulders, whispering, "Don’t panic," and took them to a spot just outside the prison. Draco's other belongings, the things he couldn't have in the prison, appeared at their feet as well. 

Ron bent, and picked Draco's wand out of the box, handing it over. He fished a second elastic band from his pocket. This one was bronze. "You know what this one is?" 

Draco shook his head. 

"It doesn't let me control you, Apparate you, or any of the like. It simply won't allow you to attempt to—well, or to succeed by accident to—run away from me." He shrugged. "You can see why they'd think that's important. I'm required to put it on you." 

"Not like I have a choice, while the other bloody one is on." 

"Sure you do. Haven't commanded a damn thing. May I have your right hand?" 

Draco put out his hand and waited while Ron secured the glittering bronze band, high on his arm. "Why up there?" 

"Sexier." Ron snorted at Draco's expression. "Shit. _No_ sense of humor. Must've been bred out of you. Because it won't show under a shirt unless you start wearing Muggle tank tops—I'm not holding my breath there—and thus is less conspicuous." He removed the silver band from Draco's left wrist. 

"Thanks. Um, for." He dropped his sleeve over the remaining band and looked at his bodyguard. "Where are we going?" 

"Malfoy Manor, first. To get whatever else you might need besides what you have here. You'll need to let me in." 

"Right. You'll want to appear to the south of the Manor." 

"Okay. See you there." Ron vanished, Draco an instant behind him. 

\-- 

They arrived just a few feet apart, and got into the Manor without incident. Ron spent nearly an hour trailing around behind Draco, who was thinking of more and more things he absolutely had to have in hiding, holding the box and shrinking things as needed, until finally, he snapped. "Draco! We have luxury for twenty-five here! Damn, man. We need to go. Once your father's one-time friends realize you aren't in prison, don't you know they'll look here first?" 

Draco evidently hadn't realized any such thing; he went from pink to frighteningly pale in an instant, and Ron quickly set down the box to steady him. "So. Anything else you actually _need_? Or can we—shit!" The whole Manor shook as the wards fell. Ron grabbed the silver band again, slapped it around Draco's arm, and took them out, through three stops to the Muggle safehouse they would be staying at. He immediately pulled the band off again. "Sorry. There was no time. I didn't mean to. Fuck." Draco was shaking, sweating, and totally silent. 

Ron carried him up the stairs, took his still-shrunk books and clothes from his pocket, and re-enlarged them, then changed Draco into soft pyjamas, marveling at the fact he'd had this sort of clothing even in prison, and tucked him in. Draco's teeth had quit chattering by the time he was sitting in one of the beds, and when Ron sat down on the opposite mattress to ask if he wanted supper, he nodded jerkily and met Ron's eyes briefly. 

Ron went down to the kitchen to organize sandwiches and tea, and was back in ten minutes with a steaming mug and toast with melted cheese. "I'll have to go out for supplies, but I imagine that can wait for morning." 

Draco nodded and ate his sandwich tidily, mechanically, chewing daintily with his lips closed. Ron wondered, briefly, why he was attending to the behavior of Draco's lips, but before long, the events of the day caught up with him and he went to wash up a bit and collapse into his own bed. 

"Night, Malfoy," he said, pulling the chain on the Muggle lamp. 

"Um. Night, Weasley. Could you show me how to work the lights, before you fall asleep?" 

Ron turned the light back on and demonstrated, then pulled Draco by the hand into the bathroom to make sure he was clear on how to use the toilet and sink. 

"Thanks." 

\-- 

Ron woke to hear Draco complaining about the soap. He first rolled over and put the pillow over his head, but the sun was bright and he could still hear the rumbling of Draco’s litany of complaints, so he got up and crossed the hall. Turning the knob, he opened the door in inch. “What the hell is your problem in there?” 

“This soap is of even poorer quality than what I was afforded in prison! And we didn’t bring any other.” 

“Snob. I’m sure it will still get you clean.” 

“But it’ll rough up my complexion! I want good soap.” 

“Lovely. I’ll put it on my shopping list. Anything else?” 

“I believe these towels were made of strands of extruded copper, cleverly disguised as a sort of fabric.” 

Ron put his free hand, the one not still holding the doorknob, to the bridge of his nose. Gods, he hoped the danger to Draco would end soon! “I apologize for the non-luxury of your accommodations. Just deal with it this morning, and I’ll see if I can’t find something less horrifying for you later, all right?” 

Draco grabbed the door out of Ron’s hand and held up the tube of toothpaste. “And what the hell is this shit? It’s disgusting!” 

Ron scrunched up his nose. “Plain mint toothpaste, it would seem.” 

“And I can _not_ believe I have to use _this_!” He spun back to the vanity to set down the toothpaste and pick up a neon green disposable razor, holding up the towel that wrapped round his waist with one hand. 

Ron rolled his eyes. “Well, you don’t have to. You could just grow a beard.” 

Draco put his hands on his hips, exasperated. “I would look _absurd_ with a beard!” 

“Who’s going to see you? Me, and a bunch of Muggles you’ve never met. Just that much more disguise, if you ask me.” 

“Who will see me is irrelevant. Malfoys do not fail to appear their best!” 

“Lovely. So take the abominable soap and wire-made towel and horrifying plastic razor and get your arse in the shower and get cleaned up. We need to go shopping, and I’d prefer to get to it before the next ice age. Also, I’ve yet to shower, as well." 

“Yes, well, that’s because you were still abed, snoring like a great ape. How you could sleep on such a pathetic excuse for a mattress is quite beyond me.” 

“You were snoring well enough when I got up to relieve myself at half past four. Good thing, that, as you’re considerably less frustrating to be around when you’re not talking.” 

“Of desperation, that I was asleep, I assure you. I expect my back will never be right again!” 

“Oh, sod _off_! Just get in the damned shower. Hot water will soothe your ills. And leave me some water!” 

“What?” 

“The amount of hot water to be had in a Muggle home is limited to the amount heated at any given time in the hot water heater. If you shower until you run out of hot water, I won’t have any until more heats, and mine will be cold.” 

“That’s.” Draco stared, dumbstruck at the notion of an unintentional cold shower. Finally, he shuddered. “This place is barbaric! You’ll just have to find somewhere else for me to—“ 

“Prison looking better and better, Malfoy? Shut it. This is where we’re staying.” 

Draco gaped, then set his jaw mulishly and sat down in his towel on the closed toilet lid. “I think not.” 

Ron sighed. “And _I_ think this is where we started, not fifteen hours ago.” He stepped into the room, turned on the faucet roughly, and yanked the knob to change the flow from faucet to showerhead. 

“Also, I didn’t know how to do that,” Draco interjected. 

“Shit, you could just fuck with it a bit.” 

“But it might, I don’t know, explode!” 

Ron checked the temperature, then spun and picked Draco up, plucked loose the towel, and set him on his feet in the shower. Then, still wearing his cotton pyjama bottoms, he picked up a washcloth and the horrifying razor and stepped in after him, drawing the curtain closed. 

“What! Hey!” 

“Shut it.” Ron said again. He wet the soap, lathered up the washcloth, and started with Draco’s chest, scrubbing roughly. “Can you manage your own face? I’ll likely get soap in your eyes.” He moved lower, still rubbing harshly, belly and thighs and knees, hamstrings, buttocks, up his back. “Muggle stuff, on the whole, doesn’t explode as readily as you appear to think. They tend not to place knobs and switches right there if they’re not meant to be flipped. Well, except for electrical gear. Be careful with that.” 

Draco stopped rinsing his face. “And I’ll know what gear is electrical, how?” 

“Oh, for the love of—if it plugs into the wall, it’s probably electrical.” He swished the washcloth between Draco’s legs. 

“Hey!” 

“You need help with your hair, too, I suppose?” Ron ignored the obvious response of Draco’s body to being handled, and spun him around, reaching for the shampoo with his other hand. “Tip your head back.” He poured a pool of shampoo into his palm and began working it into Draco’s hair, so much longer now than it once had been. 

“So, they didn’t have haircuts in prison?” 

“Shut up. I wanted to let it grow.” He groaned. “Damn, that feels good.” 

“So, the amenities are all right, as long as you have a personal servant to massage your scalp?” 

“Fuck off.” 

Ron shrugged. “Right. You get to whine; I don’t get to make casual conversation. Fine. Turn.” He backed Draco into the spray, still studiously ignoring the now firm erection bumping against his thigh. “There. You’re clean. You want help shaving, too, or can you manage that on your own? Note me shaving you would involve my hands having a blade against your throat.” 

Draco opened his eyes wide. “What about conditioner?” Apparently he was ignoring his erection, too. 

“What?” 

“For my hair.” 

Ron stared at him blankly. “Like that shit Hermione used to use to manage her hair?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I don’t have any conditioner. I’ve never used it in my life, and it never occurred to me you would.” 

“Cretin.” 

“. . .Girl.” 

“No. Person of breeding.” 

“Right. Shaving?” 

“I’ll do it myself. With the horrible green ‘razor.’ I’ll need shaving foam. And a mirror. And a soothing lotion, for after. And another towel. And a second mirror, if you can locate one.” 

Ron found himself staring again. “Here. Razor, soap.” He reached out onto the vanity. “Mirror.” He set it on the small shelf next to the shampoo. “I have no soothing lotion, no extra cloth, and no second mirror.” 

Draco pouted. 

Ron was unmoved. “Have fun. And if you decide to do something about this,” he reached suddenly, cupping Draco’s balls and sliding his hand back toward himself, drawing a gasp, “Do try not to scream my name.” He turned and slid his pyjama bottoms off his hips. “Leave these in here. I’ll hang them to dry later. And leave me some damned hot water.” He stepped out of the shower and stomped back across the hall to the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, ignoring his own burgeoning erection and thinking of Millicent Bulstrode and Umbridge and Flitwick with a house-elf until it calmed. 

The shower was still running. 

He stomped naked down to the kitchen to see what the breakfast options were. 

The shower was still running when the kettle boiled, and when the eggs were poached, and when the toast was buttered. He set the food on the table under a low-grade stay-warm charm and stomped back _up_ the stairs and into the bathroom, where he yanked back the curtain. “I _said_ to leave me some sodding water!” 

Draco turned around, tiny rivulets of blood running from a dozen nicks on his face. “I need shaving foam! I told you!” 

Ron managed not to snicker at Draco’s pathetic expression, but barely. “And _I_ told you, I don’t have any. I made you breakfast, you ungrateful prig. I’ve used up about all the magic I can without attracting attention keeping it warm for you. You could at least be a little bit careful shaving. Here. Give me that.” 

Draco’s eyes widened. “But.” 

“Shut it.” Ron snagged the razor from Draco’s hand, not acknowledging the chunk it took from his thumb as he had to grab it incautiously, and tipped up Draco’s chin, stepping back into the tub. He ran the blade carefully along the smooth skin, down the cheek, up the throat smoothly. “Go like this.” He demonstrated pulling his chin flat and waited for Draco to comply, then scraped away the fuzzy whiskers just below his lip. “And this,” he pulled his top lip down over his teeth and waited before removing the sparse whispers that would, indeed, have made an absurd moustache. “There. All better.” He stuck his bleeding thumb under the spray for a long moment.

Draco rinsed his face, wincing at the spark of pain as water hit each fresh nick. “I’m _bleeding_!.” 

“Price of beauty, apparently. Tomorrow, I expect you’ll be more careful. Now get out of here and go eat. And leave some for me. I just _made_ breakfast. I haven’t _eaten_ any yet.” 

Draco stepped out of the tub and turned back abruptly. “Do try not to scream my name.” 

Ron blinked and resisted the impulse to look at his own cock, which, irritatingly, stirred at Draco’s words. “Shut it. Go eat. I’ll be down in five minutes.” 

\-- 

When Ron came back down the stairs eight minutes later, showered, shaved, bandaged, and dressed, Draco was still standing in his towel, glaring at the kitchen table. “There’s no marmalade, no steak, and I’ve no bloody idea what you’ve used for toast here.” He looked over his shoulder at Ron. “This is impossible.” 

Ron took a breath, ignored his body’s response to the low-riding towel, and met Draco’s eyes. “I don’t have any marmalade, I don’t think. I wasn’t who set up the accommodations, you know, so it’s possible there’s a cupboard I haven’t yet located. I _am_ sure there’s no steak in the refrigerator. So. You can make a list in a bit, _after we eat_ , and I’ll see what I can do. Do note we have a budget, though. An uncomfortable reality for you, I’m sure, but a reality never the less.” 

“Budget! Still. I’m sure we can afford basic necessities.” 

“Malfoy. We _have_ basic necessities. What we don’t have are luxuries. Look, just eat, would you? Sit down, like a civilized person, and eat?” 

Draco slumped into a chair, and Ron pretended not to notice that his precipitous action untucked the tail of the towel from where it had been stuck in at the side of his hip. “ _You_ eat. I can’t stomach this crap.” 

Ron shrugged and crossed to the table, picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. “It’s not especially fine, the bread—or the flour, I suppose—but it’s not bad. Chewy. You can really sink your teeth into it. Butter’s fresh, too.” 

“That’s disgusting.” 

“Butter?” Ron picked up his mug and washed down the toast with tea. 

“No, not butter, you boor. The way you keep talking even whilst you chew.” 

Ron felt the heat of a blush drawing into his cheeks. “Sorry. Hermione’s always on me about that, too.” He set down his toast and looked over. “Surely you can stomach a poached egg!” 

“You’ve no decent pepper.” 

Ron looked at him blankly. 

“Look. It’s all pre-ground and black. No character, no bite.” 

“Your list is getting a bit ridiculous, you know. Conditioner. Shaving foam. Better soap, fresh pepper, finer bread, steak, marmalade, softer towels…have I forgot anything? Palm fronds? Peeled grapes? And all that before you even get dressed!” Ron wondered idly what Draco would say about the clothing that had been brought here on his behalf. 

“I’m just looking for usable and edible, is all! You act as though I’ve asked for escargot and seaweed body wraps and avocado facial massage.” 

Ron stared. “Why would you wrap your body in seaweed?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly.” 

“No, really. It that some sort of skin treatment? For what? Your skin’s pretty damn well perfect anyway.” He felt his face flush again, but refused to look away, and, satisfyingly, Draco blushed pink as well. He said nothing, and Ron went on. “Besides. I think what we have here is usable and edible, if not precisely what you’re accustomed to. Come on, eat up, you. We have to get you dressed before we go shopping. Obviously, you’re going to have to come with, or I’ll never get what you seem to want.” 

“I’m not hungry enough to eat this.” Draco frowned at his plate again as Ron swallowed the last of his egg and finished his tea. 

“Fine, then, if you’re not hungry.” He reached for Draco’s plate and picked up his toast. “I’ll just eat yours, too. Growing boy and all.” 

Draco’s stomach rumbled loudly. 

“See? I knew you were hungry! You didn’t eat enough yesterday to keep a kitten healthy.” Ron set the toast back down on Draco’s plate. 

Draco turned up his nose. 

Ron laughed. “I never knew the phrase ‘turning up one’s nose’ was so bloody accurate! Damn. Look, I promise lunch will be nicer.” 

“I should hope.” 

“Damn again! You just can’t quit being a complete pillock, can you? Eat! I’m supposed to be taking care of you. Can’t be much of a bodyguard if I allow your body to waste away on my watch!’ 

Draco didn’t move toward his food. In fact, he slumped lower in his chair, causing his towel to gap slightly and ride up his thighs. 

“Right. No teasing, and certainly no being nice. Fine. Force-feeding, it is.” Ron picked the toast back up and stood, one foot between Draco’s, to hold the toast before him. “Would you rather I cut up the egg on the toast?” 

“No—ghth!” As soon as Draco opened his lips to speak, Ron shoved the toast into his mouth. Draco bit reflexively, chewing and swallowing, and sputtering his outrage. “Choking me to death? Christ, Weasel! I won’t die of starvation for missing one bloody meal!” 

“No talking with your mouth full.” 

“Fuck off.” Ron shoved a forkful of egg between Draco’s lips. “Stop it! I can feed my own bloody self!” 

“You weren’t,” Ron observed. 

“Didn’t want to. It’s _gross_!” 

“You’ll live.” 

“I know. With or without this… this rancid parchment substitute you’re pushing into my mouth. Likely without, better than with. Yuck. Fine. I’ll eat the egg if you’ll leave off with the sodding toast!” 

Ron grinned and picked up Draco’s plate to cut off another forkful of egg. 

“I can do it myself!” 

“Oh, no. This morning has taught me that Draco requires servants for all things.” Ron quirked a brow, then, before he could think better of it, swung his foot across Draco and sat down, landing his arse on Draco’s thighs, leaning back onto the table with Draco’s plate between their chests. When Draco opened his mouth to complain, he shoved more egg between his lips. “If you want to do things on your own, you’ll have to demonstrate that you can, and will.” 

Draco whimpered. “Get off me, you clod!” 

Ron gasped as Draco shifted, opening this thighs so Ron fell down onto the hard seat of the chair, his knees folding over Draco's thighs. Without meaning to, he wriggled closer, immediately excusing himself as not wanting to fall off the edge of the chair. He tried not to notice the heat of Draco's crotch, and when he convulsively looked down, because he had to know, he was grateful for the plate in his hand. He speared another bite of egg and put it to Draco's lips. 

Draco opened his teeth and delicately plucked the bit of egg off the tines, and Ron avoided considering what else those teeth could do delicately. He chewed quietly, jaw working, and Ron considered anything but other reasons he might watch that jaw flex and pull. He shifted in his seat, and Ron froze. 

"Draco?" 

"Weasel." 

"You. I. You're. It's." 

"Like I've had any privacy for wanking in the last long while. Fuck off." 

Ron twisted at the waist and set down the plate, feeling his face heat for the third time that morning as the twisting motion drew him closer still to Draco, whose towel had come completely undone somewhere along the line and was now merely resting over his lap. "I have," he said, leaning forward so his own hard cock pressed against Draco's belly. "Apparently, that's not relevant." He wrapped one arm around Draco's shoulders and splayed the other one on his ribcage. 

Draco swallowed hard, staring into Ron's eyes. "Apparently." He groaned and pressed closer. 

Ron closed his eyes. "I think. We'd best. Go shopping." He started to lean back again, the arm wrapped around Draco sliding free along the back of his neck, but Draco suddenly raised his arms and held him close. He opened his eyes. 

"Right." Draco pulled him closer, until they were chest to chest, Draco's chin pressing against Ron's left shoulder. 

"I mean," Ron said into Draco's ear quietly, "if we don't go now, we might not get to it." He pressed his lips to the side of Draco's neck gently, bending to nuzzle down then back up, toward his jaw. 

Draco groaned. "Good point. Damn it." 

"Here. Let me…" Ron bit gently at Draco's earlobe, then pushed away and leaned sideways to get free of his lap. He turned around immediately, scooping Draco up out of the chair, and headed up the stairs. 

"What're we doing?" 

"Getting you dressed." 

"You're carrying me." 

"I know. You're slow, when left to your own devices." 

"I think it's an excuse to touch me." 

"That too." Ron set Draco down on his bed, and yanked open the wardrobe. "Here. Faster you get dressed, faster we go, faster we can decide if, in fact, we want to pursue this …whatever." 

"But. What the hell is this?" 

"Trousers." 

"They're. Blue and faded and rough! With _brown stitchery_." 

"They're jeans, you prat. You'll fit right in." 

"And this?" 

"Is a t-shirt. It goes over your head." 

"For people to _see_? With a picture of. What the hell is this a picture of? It's so…" 

"Not classy? I know. It's a picture of a rock star. But it'll work. Here's a sweatshirt to go over." 

"Do I get underthings?" 

"Here." Ron tossed a clean pair of underwear at Draco. "You have two minutes." 

Draco dropped the jeans on the floor to catch the underpants and picked up his feet to thrust them through, then picked up the jeans to drag them up after. "Tight!" 

"They'll loosen up. Also, they look good tight." 

"They'll loosen up? I thought they were Muggle clothes." 

Ron grinned. "They are. It's just that the fabric stretches." 

"Right." Draco pulled the t-shirt over his head and the sweatshirt around his shoulders and stood up. "Ready." 

"You need shoes!" 

"Oh. Right. Do I have socks?" 

Ron threw a balled-up pair of socks, followed by new trainers. 

"These are…" 

"Perfectly good socks and shoes. To go with your perfectly good jeans. Let's go." 

Draco put the shoes on his feet, then stared at them. "Why aren't they tying?" 

Ron managed not to smirk at him. "Because they're ordinary shoes. Muggle house, Muggle shower, Muggle refrigerator, and so forth, so of course we didn't stock it with luxury wizarding shoes—look, I know some of this isn't obvious, but come on. I've never in my life had a self-tie pair." 

Draco stared at him. "But." He looked at the shoes again. 

"Oh." Ron knelt and tied the shoes quickly. "I'll teach you later." 

"I hate this house." 

"Sorry. Come on. We've lots of stops to make!" 

\-- 

Ron came back to where Draco was pushing the trolley, and looked carefully into the basket. "Draco!" 

Draco scowled. "But they're good!" 

"We're not getting £70 bottles of wine! I told you! Budget!" 

Draco pouted. 

"Yes, that's very appealing, I'm sure, but since I don't even _have_ the money for that sort of thing… Look. If we buy that, we can't afford the kind of soap you want, or whatever it was for your hair. Or softer towels. You seemed to think those things were important." 

"Muggle money's made of paper, isn't it?" 

"Of a sort." 

"So," Draco leaned close, "Couldn't you just duplicate some?" 

Ron rolled his eyes. "First, putting aside how that's ethically completely beyond the pale, let's discuss again the problem of using magic any more complicated than the stay-warm charm from this morning." 

Draco's face fell. "Fine. Do we have everything?" 

"Let's see. Eggs. Cheese. Bread you'll tolerate." He grinned. "Berries. Apples—green for you, red for me. Makings of porridge and waffles. Marmalade for his highness." 

"Shove off. Everyone likes marmalade." 

"I don't." 

"Oh. So that's just for me?" 

"Yep." 

"What about your budget? It's… how much was it?" 

"It's fine. I want you reasonably happy. You're a bit hard to live with, grumpy." 

"But if it's just for me. I mean, you're getting me good bread. And. You know how to make waffles?" 

"I do." 

"Why do you know all this stuff?" 

"Partners with Harry for nearly five years, you know. He knows, I learned. Same reason I know how to drive the car and work electrical shit. Does make me ideal for work among Muggles, even if I'd have just as soon been looking for Macnair out west." 

"Sorry." 

"No, it's working out okay, I think. Anyway. I know lots of things I never knew when I left Hogwarts, that's for sure. Lots more than I ever learned in Auror training! So. What else do we need? We have potatoes and carrots, and chicken and beef. Onions! Oh, and your fresh peppercorns." 

"I hate onions." 

"Lovely. I'm getting some anyway, for flavoring, if nothing else." 

"How much is all this costing, anyway?" 

"Now you're worried about the budget?" 

"Well." Draco flushed. "I do want better towels." 

"I've got it handled. I figure we can afford forty or so here. We're at around thirty-seven so far. Oh. Do you want some biscuits?" 

Draco grinned. "The kind with chocolate covering?" 

"If you want." 

\-- 

Ron put the food purchases in the boot of the non-descript agency car and steered Draco toward the department store for shampoo and towels and other sundry items. 

"How much can we spend?" Draco immediately wanted to know. 

Ron chuckled. "Just try to keep it reasonable, okay?" 

Forty minutes, £94, and nine arguments as to the meaning of 'reasonable' later (No, Draco, a £149 wet-dry shaver is not reasonable. No, Draco, 300-thread Egyptian cotton sheets are not reasonable. No Draco, I'm absolutely certain it will not chafe you raw to use this £6 towel rather than that £13 one. And no, Draco, we don't need a pepper mill with a light built in. This one will do fine). They got back in the car to drive home. 

"You're pouting again." 

"I liked the other sheets better." 

"Better enough not to afford the towels?" 

"No. But you had more pounds and chillies and squids and whatever those all were called! I saw!" 

"Yes, and I need to have some left for putting petrol in the car, and for buying milk when we run out." 

"Oh. What's petrol?" 

"Fuel to make the car able to run." 

"You not only have to drive it, but you have to _feed_ it, too? Muggles are so inefficient!" 

Ron snickered. 

\-- 

They put away the groceries together, once Ron had explained about the freezer and refrigerator in greater detail. Draco, who’d never seen an item that needed to stay cold and didn’t come with a status-quo charm, had looked in the refrigerator that morning, but hadn’t realized it was anything other than a funny cabinet. 

As Draco arranged the last of the fruit in a bowl on the table, Ron tied off his shoes and silently walked up behind him. He stood with his feet apart, making himself a bit shorter to more comfortably bend and put his lips gently to Draco’s neck, just below his ear. He folded his arms around, too, and quietly said, “Where were we?” 

Draco shuddered. “In the chair.” 

“Smartass.” Ron snorted for punctuation, then put the very tip of his tongue against Draco’s hot skin, drawing upward until he could pull an earlobe between his lips. 

“I do try,” Draco groaned, leaning into Ron, back against his chest and sideways, tipping his chin upward to meet Ron’s lips. Ron slid his lips back down, nipping gently at the corded musculature joining neck and shoulder, and pulled his hands back until he was gripping Draco’s shoulders, spinning him around. He spun him around. 

“We really doing this?” 

“Fuck. If we’re not, you’re a sodding tease, Weasel.” 

“Well, excuse me for my concern, Ferret, that you in fact were willing, and not under the impression I was forcing myself on you.” 

“ _You_! Force _me_ to do anything? I think _not_.” Draco shrugged free of Ron’s hands and went up the stairs. 

Ron heard the door slam and sighed, slumping back into the same chair they’d sat in this morning before observing that this was a spectacularly bad idea, as it only reminded him of how not four hours ago they’d shared this chair, how Draco’s body had been hot against his, flushed and pink in his white towel. His cock throbbed eagerly as he recalled how close together they’d been. 

Ron went into the tiny toilet under the stairs and unzipped his trousers, reaching in to draw out his hard cock, running his thumb over the tip and sliding his palm along his length until his finger could caress and cup his balls. He stilled as he heard Draco walking overhead, then smiled. He was walking into the bathroom, was standing directly above him. His cock hardened further at the thought of Draco in the bathroom upstairs, doing the same thing he was doing, running the pad of his thumb down the solid underside of his shaft, tightening his fingers around to pull and twist, harder and harder, biting his lip. 

“Fuck.” Ron kicked off his trousers and underpants and took the stairs two by two, banging on the bathroom door. “Draco?” 

“I’m in the bathroom, Weasel. Civilized people do not interrupt short of emergency. Since you are, however, uncivilized, I shall assume this is not an emergency, and that you are, rather, simply interrupting.” 

“Right. I’m interrupting. Because I was on the toilet just below, and it occurred to me that if you were doing what I was, it would be a great deal more fun to do it together.” 

Draco was silent for a moment before he answered. “You want to urinate together? My word, Weasel. You’re a bigger perv than the Hogwarts rumor mill ever suggested.” 

Ron might have stomped back down the stairs had there not be a slight quaver—of hurt, or humor, he wasn’t certain which—in Draco’s tone. “No, I don’t want to urinate together. Though I do suggest an activity which involves hands on cocks.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well. Hands, or other things.” 

Ron heard Draco stepping toward the door, and couldn’t quite suppress a snort. “You’re in there wanking in your shoes?” 

Draco stopped, a few feet shy of the door. “Who said I was wanking?” 

“Sorry. I assumed. _I_ was. Matter of fact,” Ron put his hand to his cock again, “I _am_.” 

Draco said nothing. 

“And it feels good. I’m thinking about how, earlier, I was sitting across your lap? And our crotches touched, through my trousers and your towel?"

He thought he heard a groan, low, barely there, and then he definitely heard the shuffle of feet drawing nearer the door. He grinned. 

“And then, a bit ago, how you tipped your head to give me access to your throat? I wanted to bite harder, you know. I didn’t want—don’t want!—to scare you, though. But I want to mark you, to use my teeth, on your shoulder or your throat, on your chest, perhaps, or your belly. I can’t do it from out here...” He let his words trail off and waited, absently running the tips of his fingers up and down his cock, imagining Draco doing the same. 

Another shuffle, and a muttered, “Fuck.” He saw the doorknob rattle, as a hand hit the other side, but the door didn’t open. “Don’t laugh?” 

Ron frowned. “At what?” 

“I’m. Uhm, I had some. Um.” 

Ron put his hand on the doorknob now, turning and pushing just as Draco turned and pulled. The door opened more quickly than either of them expected, and Draco stumbled back as Ron stumbled forward into him. Predictably, they fell to the tile, Draco sprawled on his arse and Ron draped across him. “Sorry!” 

“You’re half-naked!” 

“Uh. Yeah. I told you I was—“ 

“But. You were standing _out on the landing_ like that?” 

“We’re the only ones here.” Ron’s body caught up with the conversation, and his hips pressed convulsively forward against Draco’s thigh. “ _You’re_ still wearing…everything.” 

“I couldn’t work the fastenings.” 

“It’s just a zip!” 

“Yes, but—“ 

“Never had trousers that didn’t manage themselves before, either, then?” Ron crawled back several inches and gripped the zipper in his teeth, yanking it upward and dragging it down in one smooth move. 

Draco stared. “They were locked!” 

“It’s that the tab thing locks into place until you turn it up. To prevent it from opening if you lean a funny way and it wants to…why are we talking about this?” Ron grabbed the tail of Draco’s shirt between his teeth, pulling it up out of his way as he curled his fingers over the waistband of Draco’s jeans to slide them down over his hips. Draco whimpered. 

“What?” Ron pressed a smacking kiss to Draco’s ribs. “Good or bad?” 

“Good,” Draco moaned. “Can you…” He dragged his jeans down further, growling low in his throat when his cock sprang free and slapped up flat against his belly. Ron was there instantly, wrapping one warm hand around his cock, dragging his tongue up the underside and closing his lips over the head. Before Draco could even consider this to any degree, Ron was tonguing his way up Draco’s chest, stopping to suck on a pink nipple between his teeth, and then, he was straddling Draco, their cocks brushing, just barely, too much and nowhere near enough and entirely impossible until Ron’s lips parted against Draco’s, warm and soft and sweet. 

Draco couldn’t help thrusting up against Ron’s belly, couldn’t help that he was pinned under the bigger boy, pressing up, held down, the friction against his balls, flush up against Ron’s, rough and hot. After a moment, he broke the kiss, turned his head, and bit at Ron’s ear before whispering, “Can we get my trousers off so I can move my legs?” 

Ron rolled them onto their sides, and went back to nibbling at Draco’s lower lip as they both pushed and pressed his jeans down his thighs, over his knees, and down to his ankles, where they got stuck. Ron sat upright, , pulling Draco tight against him. He groped for Draco’s shoes, grabbing the laces and yanking, pulling up one foot at a time to haul the trainers off over heels and arches, never letting go of Draco’s lips with his own until he changed tacks, gripping the other boy’s tongue, instead, suckling and sliding. Finally, the shoes were off, the jeans were off, and they set about heaving shirts over shoulders and off arms before they lay back down on the cold tile, rolling again until Draco straddled Ron, moaning into his mouth. 

Ron wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him solidly, then slid his strong hands down Draco’s firm back and buttocks, pulling his legs up to straddle wider, knees above Ron’s hipbones. He ran his hands back up, pausing to knead Draco’s arse, enjoying the way the head of his cock rested in the cleft between Draco’s spread cheeks. Finally, brawny arms wrapped snugly around Draco’s torso, he flexed forward to sit up. He ran his lips down the side of Draco’s neck again, then whispered, “I’m thinking the bed might be more comfortable.” 

He bent his knees and pulled them upright, one hand supporting Draco’s arse as the other crept under to play with his balls. Draco bit down on his throat as he walked them into the bedroom, and his knees nearly buckled. "Damn, Malfoy." He sat down on the nearer bed, Draco's legs still around his waist , and scooted back until he could stretch out once again, reproducing the position they'd been in on the bathroom floor. 

Draco promptly began suckling at Ron's earlobe as Ron returned to trailing his fingers up and down Draco's back and legs, gripping and massaging, pleased with how each press of his fingers pulled Draco closer to him, and each time he pulled, Draco rocked his hips forward, sliding his cock up Ron's belly, along Ron's own. He could feel the increasing puddle where each of them was dripping pre-come, where it was sliding between them, making both of them wet and slick, making each thrust of their hips slicker and tighter and better. 

"Malfoy?" Ron turned to meet Draco's lips with his own, a hard kiss, bruising them both, he was sure. He gentled his lips, soothing where he'd just bruised, sliding back down Draco's throat, pushing him up to reach his throat, his clavicles, his chest. "Mmm. Malfoy?" 

"What?" Draco's voice was thick, almost as though he were crying, though with a quick glance, Ron decided that wasn't it. 

"I want. Have you done this before?" 

"'This' what?" asked Draco. "Kissed someone? Been naked together?" 

"With another bloke." 

"Yes." 

Ron frowned. "I didn't know you—" 

"It's an unadvertised secret," Draco said dryly. 

"Me, too." 

"Potter?" 

Ron laughed. "Not in this lifetime. Boy's so straight I don't think he ever once wanked in the dormitory with all the boy stuff about." 

Draco ground their cocks together, grinning. "I'd have guessed differently." 

"You and a couple thousand other people. Mmm." Ron pressed his hips up again, suddenly in no hurry at all to finish this. 

Draco had other ideas. He raised up, just a bit, and reached between them, wrapping his thumb around his own prick and his fingers around Ron's. "I want you to fuck me." He ran his hand up and down once, and again, then raised up further. "Your wand in here?" 

"No, but…" he reached for the nightstand and opened the drawer, retrieving a vial of oily gel. "Couldn't use magic for it anyway. I mean, it's low-level enough not to set off alarms, but the Ministry is monitoring spell usage at this location, and I'd just as soon not explain why we needed a lube spell." 

"Good point." Draco dipped two fingers into the gel and returned to sliding his fingers, then his fist up and down Ron's cock. Ron couldn't help but rock up into Draco's slick hand, and he nearly upset the jar of oil before he scooped out a bit himself, reaching between Draco's splayed legs to press gently against his opening—gently, until Draco rocked back against him unexpectedly, grinning broadly. "Mmm." 

"Damn," Ron managed, relocating his sense of urgency as Draco milked his cock. "You're. If you. Want me. In. You better. Shit." 

Draco set his hands on either side of Ron's head, dipping down for a lingering kiss, keeping his arse high in the air so only his chest and lips were touching Ron, and then, without any greater warning than suddenly reaching back for Ron's cock, he held him steady and slid down onto him. 

"God, Malfoy. Draco. So. Shit." 

Draco rocked his hips and let his head fall back, gripping Ron's shoulders hard. He arched up, away from Ron, pulling himself loose and slamming back down, harder and harder as Ron gripped his arse with desperate fingers until finally he reached up and wrapped his arms around Draco's back and hauled him down to hold him close, thrusting into him shallowly, barely moving, sliding his lips down his throat once more. 

"God," Draco rasped. 

"Good," Ron corrected, smiling against pale flesh. Draco lifted away just enough to grin back. 

"We. Should've. Fucking. Done. This. _Years_ ago!" Draco grunted, retaking some measure of control and forcing a more vigorous pace. 

"Couldn't agree. Shit. More. Yes. Just. Yes. Like. Yes." 

Draco nodded sharply and slammed down twice more, stroking his own cock with haphazard rhythm as he fucked himself on Ron's cock. 

Ron gasped again, then covered Draco's hand with his own, smoothing his pace and whispering, "Come for me." 

Draco shuddered at Ron's low command, so he spoke again. 

"Come for me. Shoot on my belly so I can watch you, can watch it come out of your cock. Come for me." Draco moaned, slammed their joined fists down around his cock twice more, and spilled hotly over Ron's knuckles. Ron watched, forgetting to breathe, and arched up to meet Draco as he, came too. 

"That." Draco started to say something, panting, but Ron put a come-coated finger over his lips. 

"Shh." Ron took away the finger, pulling it to his own lips. "Shh." He pulled Draco down onto him and cradled him there as his cock softened and slipped free. 

After several minutes, Draco rolled off Ron, toward the wall, landing on his back, "I said before, my predilection for men was an unadvertised secret. I think, perhaps, I should say more." 

"Only if you want to." Ron rolled toward him, sliding his bicep under Draco's head, cushioning him and holding him close. He reached behind him for something, anything, with which to clean them up, eventually settling for the pillowcase from the other bed. 

"When Father had any say in the matter, he actively encouraged rumors to the contrary. Since his recent incarceration, I've been sparing my mother's feelings." 

"I'm sorry." 

Draco shrugged, a half-hearted drawing up of one shoulder. "Her feelings are unlikely to be of import much longer." 

"She's ill, I'd heard." 

"Quite." 

"I'm sorry about that, too. You know we can't go to her." 

"I know. She knew too, the last time we spoke at the hospital. She encouraged me to talk to your brother." 

"Ah. He wondered why you came to him." 

"My mother has odd ideas about who is trustworthy, and why." Draco shrugged again, a more honest jerk of both shoulders this time. "She's usually right about who, and her explanations as to why are so convoluted, I'm afraid I've never followed one long enough to be clear on whether she's right about that, too." He yawned, and snuggled closer, and before Ron got around to getting up to get a blanket, they both fell asleep there on the bed. 

\-- 

The sun was well across the sky when they woke. Before Ron had even opened his eyes, Draco was mumbling, "Sticky. Mess." 

"Back to whingeing again, are we?" Ron opened one eye. 

Draco smirked. "Always." 

“I suppose we could take another shower.” Ron sat up abruptly, pulling Draco with him, and returned to the bathroom. He turned on the tap, adjusted the water to hot, and stepped into the tub, holding out his hand. “Oh. Wait.” 

“What?” 

“Run downstairs and get that shampoo and stuff.” 

“Why me?” 

“Damn, you _are_ a brat! Because I’m wet and you’re not.” 

Draco couldn’t argue with this, so he went down the stairs. He was still grumbling when he returned. 

“What are you on about?” 

“Going downstairs like this!” Draco waved a hand, indicating his continuing nakedness. 

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Again, there’s no one here!” 

“But someone could knock at the door.” 

Ron shrugged. “So, you wouldn’t answer.” 

Draco stared at him as he stepped into the tub. 

Ron squeezed soft apple-smelling gel into his hand and rubbed up a lather before setting to work on Draco, hands and arms first. “Let me guess. Well bred people don’t not answer their door?” 

“Well. I mean, I wouldn’t have answered, at home. That feels nice. No, Pency would.” 

“Pency?” 

“Scratch? Aahh. You know Dobby the house elf?” 

Ron frowned at the apparent non-sequitur. “…yeah.” He soaped Draco’s belly, washing away the remaining sticky residue there and smirking as he crouched to rub the soap down Draco’s thighs without ever touching his rising cock. 

“Pency’s his half-sister. On the mother’s side. Her father was a much more stable elf in the Parkinson household.” 

“…you know the pedigrees of your house-elves? Turn around.” He went to work on Draco’s shoulders and back, tracing slick soapy fingers down the long dent down the middle, feeling the bumps and knobs of his spine before bringing both hands back up to work lather along his ribs, around his body, up onto the back of his neck, behind his ears. 

Draco groaned. “Of c—damn, that’s nice.” Draco spun in Ron’s arms and nicked the green gel out of his hand, running the flats of his hands over Ron’s chest and belly. He reached around under Ron’s arms, soaping his back and making the same journey with his hands down the long spine, continuing over muscular glutes and, crouching himself now, hard hamstrings and calved. He didn’t touch Ron’s cock, either. “Of course,” he said, looking up, “we know their pedigrees. After the Dobby situation, we got rather more careful.” 

“Oh. Of course. Get back up here.” As Draco stood, Ron pulled him forward until they were chest to chest under the spray, waves of foam-tipped water sliding down, over Ron’s shoulders and spilling onto Draco’s arms and splitting into tiny waterfalls down both of their legs. “Look. I bruised you.” He bent to kiss gently at marks, just below Draco’s ear, just above his collarbone, on his ribcage. 

Draco hooked a finger under his chin to pull him back up and press them together again. “I believe you bruised me here,” he said, pointing at his chin. “And damn if I didn’t leave a mark just here.” He stretched up to brush his lips against a point near Ron’s nose. 

Ron grinned. “I think you bruised my lip.” 

Draco lowered back to flat feet and ran his tongue along Ron’s upper lip. “Here?” 

“Other one.” 

“Mm?” 

“Mmmm-hm.” Ron slid his hand between them to grip both their cocks again, sliding his hand loosely up and down, gripping Draco’s arse with his other hand. 

“You know,” Draco said against his lips, “We really should have got a quality lube while we were out. Soap, I think not, and baby oil? Too. It. I don’t like it.” 

“I can’t believe you’re complaining again.” 

“Can’t help it.” 

”As ever, mmm.” Ron thrust his tongue deep between Draco’s lips, tracing his teeth, drawing Draco’s tongue into his own mouth to suckle gently. “I was thinking—Draco!” Draco had reached behind him to turn the faucet knob, and cooler water was now streaming down Ron’s back. 

“Wanna do this slower.” 

Ron grimaced. “Right.” He spun Draco again, so his back was to him, and began working shampoo through his fine hair, massaging and scrubbing his scalp. “You can lean back against me.” Draco closed his eyes and leaned his head back against one broad shoulder. Ron kept scrubbing with one hand and reached down Draco’s front to slowly stroke his cock with the other. 

“Keep doing that, my knees might buckle from the good,” Draco mumbled, thrusting into Ron’s hand. 

“I’ll catch you. Rinse.” He dragged Draco around to let the shower rinse his hair of shampoo. 

“I know. You’re good at that.” 

“At what?” 

“Catching. Why aren’t you putting conditioner on now?” 

“Were you to open your eyes, you might note I’m reading the directions.” Draco heard the bottle open, then Ron started rubbing slippery liquid into Draco’s hair. “Speaking of lube…” Ron reached around Draco again and rubbed more of the stuff on his cock and turned the water temperature back up. “It says you’re to leave that on for two minutes. There’s something to be said for speed.” He backed out from under Draco, who was still leaning against him, and pushed past him out of the tub, water still running, arranging himself on all fours on the bathroom floor. 

“I don’t know if I can do it that fast.” 

“I have faith. Worst case, I have to wash your hair for you again.” 

“Right.” Draco took his time, turning off the water, stepping out of the shower slowly, pressing a kiss between Ron’s shoulder blades. 

“Hedonist.” 

“Cretin.” 

“God.” 

“Yes?” 

“Prat. Don’t stop doing that.” 

“No chance of that.” 

“Just as well that shampoo says _lather, rinse, repeat_.” 

“Just as well.” 

“If I rinse that shit out of your hair now, can we go downstairs?” 

“…Why?” 

“So we can finish what we started this morning.” 

Draco groaned. “That might be the best plan I’ve ever heard.” 

“Lovely.” 


End file.
